


Donna's Diner

by nasa_officialmarsexpedition_42



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa_officialmarsexpedition_42/pseuds/nasa_officialmarsexpedition_42
Summary: Nestled in the heart of Gotham is Donna's Diner, a 24-Hour Restaurant that prides itself on good burgers, cold beer, and a unique customer base. On her first shift overnight, Liz discovers just how unique her new serving position is, and also discovers which of Batman's Rogues like ranch with their fries.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

Donna's. 

The fluorescent sign glowed across the dark, wet pavement of Gotham City, reflected in a neon pink haze of fog, rain, and mystery. 

Donna’s was unassuming, but the very epitome of what a diner from the ’50s should look like. Sleek, shiny silver outside interior. A flickering neon sign with letters missing, resulting in the entitlement of the diner to sometimes be Onna’s, Nna’s, or very occasionally, Nn. 

The N’s had held up well through the years. 

It was settled between two brick buildings, slightly out of the normally busy streets. While cars passed often underneath the yellow streetlights, it was nestled away, tucked neatly into Gotham city in a way that meant no tourists ever passed through its doors, but weary travelers did. 

Inside, the same silvery chrome continued, with memorabilia from all ages of history, a few photos of famous singers and musicians inside, and red leather seats that were faded, worn, but cleaned vigorously by the staff there. 

Currently, the clock above the diner counter read that it was 2:36 AM, though the clock was notoriously slow. Throughout the years, countless waitresses had spent their time staring at the clock, and directly below it the faces of a man, woman, and tiny girl who was bubbling with excitement, evident even in a tiny grainy black and white photo. 

Only five people currently occupied the space. 

A trucker sat at the counter, nursing a coffee and a grilled cheese, and in the back corner of the restaurant, two middle-aged people sat, a clear post hotel room affair that had ended with the never-ending shame of reality. 

A waitress leaned back against the counter, where coffee was brewing. The end of her shift was 4:00 AM when the other waitstaff would come in for the morning rush and relieve her of her overnight duties. 

And an older, overweight man sweated over a burning hot grill stove, not entirely in the restaurant but in a kitchen that had a window into the restaurant to hand food to servers. 

The waitress called herself Liz, though the rest of the staff had taken to calling her Lizzy, something that she was still too new to correct. It was only her first night doing overnight by herself, and she had been slightly on edge, either from the coffee or the fact that she had an exam tomorrow. 

Currently, the diner was softly abuzz. Joey was flipping a few burgers and muttering to himself about the pain in his back. The couple talked, but it was too quiet and likely too awkward for Liz to want to eavesdrop. Liz was alternating between staring at the clock, double-checking on her two tables, and letting her brown hair fall over an open statistics textbook. 

Her degree was hopefully going to be in psychology, but her strong suit had never dared to be math, which is why she was currently reading and re-reading the same passage about sampling methods, and then groaning to herself and pouring yet another cup of coffee. 

Ding! 

The bell above the door rang, and Liz’s eyes darted up from her textbook to press a warm smile on her face and greet whoever had walked in, when she was met with two pairs of very frightening eyes. 

Standing in the doorway, their faces flat, was the Scarecrow and the Riddler. 

Liz’s heart rate doubled, her eyes doubled, and her breathing came out in short puffs. Her hand went to her apron, where her phone was tucked away, and she attempted to remember the code that she had learned a long time ago, the way to press the button on the side to ring the cops, but the seemingly now trivial knowledge didn’t come to her as the Scarecrow and the Riddler sat down in front of the counter. 

The seats made a farting sound, which Liz was used to, but somehow because of the situation, she thought that the seats might also be afraid and not make the usual noise. She was wrong. 

Then, an even more miraculous thing happened, which was that the Scarecrow pulled off his burlap mask, put on a pair of glasses, and scrutinizing glanced at the textbook in front of him. 

“Statistics?” 

Liz stared, her eyes huge. 

“You were never good at statistics.” The Riddler commented, removing his bowler cap and throwing it on the table in front of him before rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. The man beside him grunted, and then looked at Liz curiously. 

“He’s lying.” 

Liz nodded. “Okay.” She squeaked. 

The two looked at one another oddly, and it took Liz a moment to realize that they thought she was acting weird. The Scarecrow and the Riddler thought she was acting weird. 

The Riddler leaned forward and looked through the window into the kitchen. He smiled, and then raised his arm. 

“Joe!” 

“Ed,” Joe grunted, and Liz whipped her head around, her brown ponytail leaving a red mark on her cheek from how fast she turned. Liz briskly walked to the window from the kitchen to the restaurant, just as Joe was putting up two cheeseburgers with side salads for the long-forgotten affair in the back of the restaurant. 

“Hm?” he asked, dinging a handbell from habit, despite the fact that she was in front of him. 

“Joey, wh-that’s,” 

“What?” 

"That’s the, it’s, it’s them!” 

He looked back to the Riddler and Scarecrow and gruffed. 

“And?” 

“What do I do, Joe, what, what should-” 

“You should probably take their order, Lizzy. It’s your job.” 

Liz stared at him, and Joey shrugged before turning back to clean the grill. Evident she wasn’t going to get any more information out of him, she grabbed the cheeseburgers and walked across the restaurant to the couple, hoping the exchange took as long as possible so that she didn’t have to go speak to the supervillains at the counter. 

“H-hi.” Liz smiled at them. They looked at her curiously. “Uh, this is your food.” She referenced the food in her hands. 

“Thanks?” They stared, looking at their food that Liz still had in her hands. Liz looked at the plates and awkwardly put it down, and few fries escaped her, but the couple paid them no mind, clearly wrapped in their own concerns. 

“So, do – um, do you need anything else?” 

“No, hon, thanks.” The man said, politely smiling at her and then looking back out at the rainy streets of Gotham, clearly wanting the interaction to end, though Liz hoped it would go on forever and she would never have to walk back to the counter. 

Liz had a moment as she walked where she wondered if perhaps the two that had walked in were merely dressed as the Riddler and the Scarecrow. But, that made no sense, she had seen the Riddler’s face plastered on her twitter feed, on newspapers scattered through the streets, countless times on the news…there was no doubt it was him, and she doubted the Riddler hung out with Scarecrow impersonators. 

She walked back to the counter, a walk that was much shorter than she would’ve liked, and cautiously approached the two men. She realized immediately that she had not taken even a drink order, or handed them a menu, and that she had been a completely horrible waitress.

With a deep breath and a surge of bravery that surprised her, she walked over to them and took out her notepad. 

“Hi.” She began, and the eyes glanced at her curiously, and Liz felt a bead of sweat appear on her temple. 

“Hi.” The Riddler repeated in a similar tone, clearly bemused. 

“Can, uh, what, um, what do you like?” she stuttered. 

“Two coffees.” The Scarecrow said, clearly unamused. 

“Yep.” She agreed. Her voice was small. Despite the fact that it was two coffees, she made sure to write down every word of ‘two’ and ‘coffees’, even though the coffee maker was directly behind her. 

Her blood ran cold. Oh no. 

The coffee maker was behind her, which meant she had to complete the terrifying task of turning her back to the Scarecrow and the Riddler. 

She waited a moment as if they were going to pull a gun on her before she turned around. They looked at her curiously again, and then too quickly, Liz took a breath and moved her feet, turning around so that they were entirely out of view. 

Liz expected a knife at her back or perhaps a bullet through her shoulder, but it never came. Shaking, she poured two black coffees and quickly turned back around to set the porcelain cups in front of the two men, pushing her schoolwork to the side and then reaching under the long counter to pull out two menus. 

“No need.” The Scarecrow said, shaking his head. “We know what we want.” 

Had… had they had been here before? 

Of course, Joe knew them by name. Once again, Liz whipped around to the kitchen, leaving a fresher red mark on her cheek. Joe knew them by name. 

He was out of eyesight, and Liz returned to the task at hand, pulling her notepad out again and looking at the two men in front of her but attempting not to meet their eyes, which meant she was staring awkwardly into the spaces behind them. 

“Al-alright, what can, um, what can I get you?” 

“Dollface,” the Riddler said, “What's wrong?” 

Perhaps it was the nervousness, or the exhaustion, or the downright strangeness that had been occurring, but she pulled an answer out faster than she could think, 

“I’m nervous. I have a stats exam tomorrow.” 

It wasn’t a lie, it was just a long-forgotten, convenient truth. 

“And you had to work tonight? Bad timing.” The Scarecrow commented, going to grab creamer. “GU?” 

“Yep.” Liz nodded and then wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have disclosed that, and then remembered that thousands and thousands of students attended Gotham University. 

“Used to teach there.” The Scarecrow muttered. “Who teaches statistics these days?” 

“It’s…uh, Dr. Griffords.” 

“Mm. Prick.” Scarecrow chuckled. “Ed’s good with math. Pick his enormous brain for help.” 

Ed. 

“No, no, I…that’s, that’s okay, I think I’ll be alright. I’m alright with stats.” 

“Really?” The Riddler asked, and their eyes met. “What’s a frequency distribution group?” 

“It’s, well, it’s, I mean,” 

Liz knew the answer before tonight. 

“Thought so. Here, doll, tell Joe we want the usual and come back with some fries.” 

Liz nodded quickly and ran to the kitchen, where Joe had already begun to cook something and wordlessly handed her a plate of fries. There was a side of ranch and honey mustard. 

Liz didn’t bother asking. Or even wondering. 

“They want the usual.” 

“Already on it.” 

Again, Liz didn’t want to question the strange events that were unfolding, and merely returned to the counter and set down the plate. The two men absentmindedly began delving into the fries, each dipping with their own sauce. 

The Riddler liked honey mustard, and the Scarecrow liked ranch. This was a fact, Liz realized, that she now knew. 

She was about to walk away when the Riddler laughed. 

“Doll, do you not want to pass your exam?” 

“Seriously? It’s…Lizzy right? Liz, you won’t get a better teacher.” Scarecrow muttered between fries and ranch. 

“How, how’d you know my name?”

“You are nervous, doll. It’s on your tag.” 

Liz forgot even what she had on. 

“All – alright,” Liz said quietly, though the Riddler had already grabbed the discarded textbook, licked his fingers of honey mustard and flipped through the pages. 

“What chapter are you on?”

“Six.” 

He hummed slightly, and the Scarecrow watched him, clearly not engaged but interested in what he was going to teach. 

“Alright. Linear Model Selection?” The Riddler laughed. “This is easy, Lizzy.” 

“Okay.” 

“So you have, oh, Lizzy, do you have paper?” 

She went to reach under the counter, but the Riddler had flipped his placemat to the back and pulled out a pen from his pocket and begun furiously drawing away. 

“Okay, say, oh I don’t know, Batman, you know him.” 

Her blood ran cold, though she couldn’t say why, perhaps they thought she was an accomplice of their enemy? Her mouth acted on its own accord again. 

“Not personally.” Liz quipped. 

Scarecrow laughed. “She’s funny.” 

“Let’s say,” The Riddler continued, uncaring, “That Batman captures, on average, three criminals a night, works seven days a week, the bastard. He’d catch how many a week?” 

“Oh, uh, that’s eighteen,” Liz asked, her brain still not working. 

“Twenty-one, Liz.” The Scarecrow snorted. “He’s busier than eighteen.” 

“Alright, twenty-one. Then, one week, Joker plans a mass escape of Arkham Asylum, and hundreds of criminals are out. But Batman catches it early, he captures, let’s say, 200 in one night.” 

“Oh wow,” Liz said. “That’d be…um, an outlier.” 

“Right. Now, if you’re me, and you want to know the average number of criminals that Batman catches a year, do you include that week?” 

“I…I mean, I guess, right?” 

“Wrong!” 

His voice was slightly taunting but then switched back to educational a moment later. 

“It matters, but it’s a bit of an outlier, yes. To get a better image of how many criminals Batman catches in a year, you want an average. Here’s another question, does it matter who the criminal is?” 

“I…yes? If you think about effort, I suppose.” 

“Wrong again, Lizzy!” he laughed. “You’re me, you don’t care about who he captures.” 

“Unless it’s himself,” Scarecrow muttered. “Then he usually cares.” 

“Another question, Liz, is if perhaps we don’t look at Batman. He’s a bit of an outlier, isn’t he, catching all those criminals. Let’s say I want…an average number of criminal to hero captures. If I want a fuller picture, who should I look at?

“GCPD?” 

“Well, now, Liz, we want at least a little bit of a model.” The Riddler laughed. 

“Who, then…Robin?”

“A bit more experienced. I’d say Nightwing.” Riddler said finally. “Nightwing brings in...let’s say fifteen criminals a week. He works less. After all, he is a student.” 

Liz nodded. By student, she assumed he meant that he was learning from Batman, a fact that she now knew. 

“Basically, you want to eradicate information and find the best source of material to draw from.” The Scarecrow summarized. “Griffords is a prick of a person, but he’s a fair teacher, you’ll probably be fine.” He muttered, taking a sip of coffee. 

Ding!

It was Joe, and two burgers sat on the counter. Liz walked over and served them to the two villains, putting her textbook away. 

“Does that help, Lizzy?” 

“It does, thank you.” 

They ate, and Lizzy cautiously walked away while they spoke to another about something that she didn’t bother listening to. She quickly ran checks to the couple at the booth, the trucker who had finished his coffee, and became distracted until the only people in the restaurant were her, Joe, and the Scarecrow and the Riddler. 

Liz remained awkwardly pressed between the wall and the kitchen window, wanting to be as invisible as possible, and as close to Joe, though she wondered if he would help if the villains did anything funny. 

“Lizzy,” the Riddler called after a while. 

Liz walked over, leaning on the counter in front of them. 

“Are you new, doll? I haven’t seen you before.” 

“I am, yeah.” 

“Extra cash through college?” the Scarecrow asked. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Well, here.” 

The Riddler pulled a stack of money from his pocket and handed her four hundred dollar bills. 

“Dinner and your tip. Good luck with your test.” 

They put their clothing back on, talking to one another, and Liz watched them walk out the door and disappear into the rainy streets of Gotham. She fingered the bills in disbelief.

“Liz, you alright?” Joe asked from the back. 

“Y-yeah,” Liz said. “They…they were nice.” 

“Folks aren’t so bad,” Joe said, and the grill hissed with sound. “We get a lot of 'em around here.” 

“A…a lot of them?” Liz asked. 

“Yeah. Just ask Donna. She’ll be in, in ten.” 

Liz glanced at the clock. 3:48 AM. 

Outside, the fluorescent sign glimmered across the shiny wet pavement, and Liz exhaled slowly. Despite the steam radiating from the vents, the frightening flickering streetlights and the less than desirable people walking through the street. 

Liz smiled, feeling a bit braver than she had before. Gotham looked much prettier than it had in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

When 4:00 came, a few people had begun to trickle into the diner; early risers, a few regulars that adored early mornings, nurses coming off late shifts, and finally, as Liz was beginning to greet them, Donna. 

Donna walked into her namesake with seasoned precision. Her coat fell on the rack without her having to glance at it. Her weathered hands took out a tube of bright red lipstick from an old purse and reapplied it without thinking as she glanced around the restaurant, taking in the sights and calculating the tables and their needs. As one hand put her weary bag on the rack, her eyes glanced up to the mirror behind the chrome bar, fluffing her platinum blonde, overly hair-sprayed, short hair. 

Donna’s face was soft upon meeting Liz’s eyes. Her face was weathered and wrinkled, and always caked in the same makeup as the day prior – bright red lipstick, brown eyeshadow, and brown eyebrows that had no distant relation to the color of her hair. Her makeup lasted her through every shift, unmoving or cracking despite however many customers she served. 

“Morning, baby.” Donna said, reaching under the counter to tie her loyal apron around her middle. Donna’s voice was rugged, it echoed with cigarettes in the back alley of the diner. 

Liz admired Donna’s beauty, apparent even in her age, but she adored her for a million other reasons. A soft smile that wrinkled her face, fiery but unconditional love for each person who walked through the door, and perhaps most impressive of all, an adept memory – Liz had once seen Donna take an entire order from a table of twenty-four without bothering to look at a notepad, and had recited it and remembered each person’s order without a second guess – it was the practiced and seasoned attitude of someone who had been a waitress their entire life. 

And Liz had recently learned, a waitress for the underbelly of Gotham’s criminals. 

“Hi Donna.” Liz replied, slowly gathering her things. 

They had a lovely relationship, Donna had trained her and called her things like ‘angel’, and ‘baby’, something that made Liz feel like she was being embraced and belittled at the same time. So, it was a bit of a surprise to Liz that her stomach was in knots as she was about to ask a seemingly simple question. 

“How was your first shift alone, baby?” 

“Um…Donna?”

“What?” 

“The Riddler and the Scarecrow were in here.” 

Donna chuckled. She pulled a rag out from under the table along with an old plastic spray bottle, and spritzed along the bar, wiping with practiced hands. 

“They usually come in every other week. Always up to something, those two. They get their burgers? Eddie likes mushrooms on his.” 

Those two? Eddie? 

“Donna, I, I don’t want to be rude, but aren’t they…you know…” 

“Hmm…well honey, I don’t think they are, Eddie’s come in here with a girl before. Not sure about Johnny though. Why, are you interested in them-?” 

“No, no, Donna, what? That’s not - I was just - I mean, aren’t they…criminals?” 

Donna looked up from wiping the counter and cocked an eyebrow at her employee.

“What’s the problem, baby?”

“They…well…” 

“Everyone’s gotta eat, sugar.” 

Liz inhaled slowly, and her bravery surged out again, somewhat irrationally. 

“But, Donna, they’re criminals.” 

Donna stopped wiping and angrily whipped the towel over her shoulder, her hands going to her hips. When Donna was upset, her eyes narrowed, and the fiery personality turned into an icy cold glare that left whoever was standing in front start to slowly back away. 

“I said, everyone’s gotta eat.” 

Liz stared, and her feet instinctively backed away from the owner of the diner. Their gaze didn’t falter, and finally, from fear, Liz squeaked, 

“Yeah…I mean, yeah they do.” 

“Mm. Thought so.” Donna muttered, going back to wiping. “If you gotta problem with that, hon, we can find you a different job.” 

“NO!” Liz said immediately, and her hands gripped her schoolbooks tighter. She continually kept placing a hand on the pocket that held the few hundred dollars. “That’s, that’s fine. Donna, I like you, you know, I wouldn’t want to…to upset you, I promise, please, I…”

Liz’s face fell, and despite how much richer she was than the day prior, her shoulders tensed and she looked up at Donna softly, who glanced back as she kept wiping the already spotless counter. 

“I really, really need this job.” 

Donna pursed her lip and thought for a moment before shrugging. 

“So do I, sweetie.” 

Liz nodded, and she shifted her backpack on her shoulders. “Do…do you need me to do anything, or, or can I go?”

Donna smiled. “Get outta here, sugar. You start any tables yet?”

“Just table four. Brought them coffee’s, gave Joe their order.” 

“Alright. I’ll be seein’ you real soon.”

The door jingled after Liz left, leaving Donna to tend to her beloved restaurant. 

___ 

When Dave was younger, he used to flip burgers at a diner on the edge of the Narrows. 

He would stare at the back of the grill, a metallic slate that had accumulated grime throughout the years in a layer that never came off, no matter how many times his boss had yelled at him for not cleaning the grill properly. 

Dave hated that job, hated the back of the grill and the burn of the oil, hated the smell of the alley behind his job where the other cooks would chain smoke cigarettes and grind them into the pavement, so many throughout the years that it was quickly becoming void of concrete, and instead was paved butt ends of paper and nicotine. 

Dave hated his greasy, old hairy boss who either never showed up or breathed down the back of his neck. He hated the streets that were too dim walking home, he hated the constant yelling of the other chefs, he hated the back of the grill. Somehow, he hated the grill most of all. 

What Dave DID love, however, was the customers. 

Odd looking people from all walks of life walked through the doors of the diner. Men who handed wads of cash to the waitresses, men who scraped pennies together for a cup of coffee. Dave adored each of them, how people’s paths turned and winded and somehow could end up in a diner together. 

It had also happened to be that customers adored Dave. 

Each praised his burgers for their taste, their juiciness, the consistency, and when Dave was able to whip something up of his own creation, customers ordered it for months. It was rare, the other chefs didn’t like him as much as he would’ve liked, but it was a good job, and the pay covered the measly rent in the narrows. 

There was another thing Dave loved, more than the customers, and the burgers, and the alley…and that was Donatella. 

Donatella hated her name. Emilia, Dave’s wife, a full-blooded Italian, had told her it was a special name, a name of great women, of great respect, but Donatella still never wanted to use it. At school, she went by Donna, and she’d come home with all her paper’s reading ‘Donna’ across the top.

And, if Donatella preferred to be named Donna, that would be what Dave would call her, because Dave adored her more than anything in the world. 

When flipping burgers hurt his back, he only had to picture her rosy cheeks and giggle and the pain would lessen and his feet would regain their strength. When the cooks teased him too much for being skinny, teased him for his ugly wife, he only had to think of his wife rocking their daughter to sleep, singing an old melody that her grandmother would sing to her, and he’d feel their jeers slide off his back. 

So it was not a question, when Dave opened a diner, what it would be named. 

Donna’s. For that was the name she preferred. 

Because Dave loved her more than anything in the world. 

Donna thought of her father when she looked at the grainy photo on the wall, and every single day when she walked into the restaurant. 

She thought of the stories he would tell, of his favorite customers. How even the grungiest and scariest of people could light up her father’s face when they got to talking. 

“Everyone has a story, Donna. And they’ll tell it, you know, if you get them eating. So everyone will tell their story, dollface, cause you know. Everyone’s gotta eat.” 

Donna’s eyes fell around the restaurant, carefully examining it with the face of a seasoned professional. She had lived in this restaurant her entire life, and she had decided a long time ago it would be where she’d die. She was like Dave, in that way. 

She was like him in one other - she loved the restaurant more than anything in the entire world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thanks for the love! I am getting this chapter out pretty quickly, this might not happen that often but I'll try to update pretty frequently, thank you again!!

Gotham tended to have more dark, rainy skies than clear ones. Liz liked that about the city. Donna’s was always a beacon of light in the dreary streets, the fluorescent red signs, and chrome silver a lighthouse to hungry sailors. Even when no one occupied the restaurant, Liz felt comfortable within its interior in a way she hadn’t at other jobs. 

It was that sort of night, like one that blended with all the others – rain slid gently across the windowpanes, the old speaker system was crooning a song Liz had heard a thousand times already, and Joe was shuffling around the kitchen. There was a book open in front of Liz, this time one that fit within her purse – a story of dragons and knights and old magic, but she was becoming intently focused on the atmosphere around her. She wondered sometimes if that was magic in itself, the strange moments that existed outside of time during the very early AM’s. 

Ding. 

Liz perked up to look at the door of the diner, her face habitually shifting into a smile and her hands closing her book. 

“Lizzie.” The man greeted, his voice deep and teasing. 

It took her a moment to process what she was seeing. The man who walked through the door was tall, with a lean frame and stunning copper hair. She was between flabbergasted and flattered and was just about to stumble over her words before she recognized the thin cheekbones, the scattering of red stubble on his cheeks. 

“Oh. Oh! Wow, uh, hi…” 

She trailed off, thinking quickly, and the man raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s…um, Ed, right?”

“Good memory, dollface.” He chuckled, sliding into the seat in front of her. Once again, it made a farting sound, which Liz still expected not to happen. 

Liz was significantly braver than the first time she had met the Riddler, having had several weeks of preparing herself for the next time he came in. She was slightly less prepared for his dress, rather than his green suit and bowler hat, he was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. He looked…absolutely ordinary. In a way, it was scarier. 

“I passed my exam.”

Liz had practiced that sentenced in her dorm, it would be the first thing she’d say to him – break the ice, establish a connection. That was the other thing she knew to do, from all those nights listening to murder podcasts, to create a connection with your potential attacker. 

“Oooh…” he crooned, his eyes growing. “What did you get?”

“An eighty-three.”

He shook his head and tsked. “Next time, we’ll study more.”

She laughed. “Alright. Next time. Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks, and my regular, if you don’t mind.”

She turned around and poured him a cup, handing him cream and sugar from beneath the counter before she made eye contact with Joe in the window. Ed waved, and Joe grunted in response before Liz heard him fire up the grill. 

The restaurant was quiet except for the radio again, and unsure of what to do, Liz pulled her book out and leaned against the counter, attempting to get immersed in the world she was in before. To her surprise, the Riddler didn’t interrupt her but rather set about pulling a phone from his pocket and tapping through something. Liz kept him in her line of vision as she read, attempting to focus on the pages until the bell rang from the window. 

As soon as she placed his burger in front of him, a group of four came into the Diner. She was distracted for a long while with drink orders and food orders, running back and forth from the counter to their table, a smile pressed on her face as she made conversation with the people who came in. 

By the time Joe had their food order, Liz was behind the counter to check on the Riddler again, who had finished his burger and was lazily picking at fries. He smiled at her. 

“You’re pretty good at this.”

“Oh, I mean.” She shrugged. “Nightshift is pretty easy. Slow. Not super fun.”

“No?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad, I just mean it’s not really exciting.”

He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and thumbed out another three hundred-dollar bills, which was a noticeably small part of the amount he had. He grinned at her again. 

“Did you want me to make it exciting?”

His voice was very low and spoken nearly impossibly slow. Liz felt her goosebumps on her arms as he drawled, his eyes darkening. Her stomach churned again, and she glanced between the people in the table and the man flipping burgers in the back. 

“I-I…no…that’s…that’s ok.” She squeaked out. 

He immediately seemed to flip a switch in his brain, and the calm natured man who had walked in an unassuming hoodie had returned. 

“Alright. Just let me know.” 

Without another word, he tore his eyes away, stood up, and exited the diner without another look back in her direction.

Liz tore off to the bathroom as soon as he had left, locking herself in the tiny single room and breathing as if she had just run fifty miles. Her stomach churned, so much so that she debated if she was going to puke, and she knelt on the ground in front of the toilet that always looked dirty. 

It took several minutes of deep breaths to calm herself down enough to stand up and glance at her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was frizzy around her face, and her eyes looked alien to her as if she didn’t recognize the person that was behind them. 

With a deep, stomach-lurching breath, Liz exited the bathroom to return to her table. 

_____ 

“Just quit.”

Her sister was perhaps the smartest person Liz knew, and as she inhaled cigarette smoke into her lungs in the back alley, it seemed like an excellent idea. Her hands were still shaking as they held her phone to her ear, and she clung desperately onto each word her sister said through the speaker. 

The streetlights behind Donna’s illuminated only the garbage, and two old diner booths served as the spot where countless cooks and waiters had taken their single fifteen-minute break (if they got one). Joe was generous that night and had let her come out once the table was gone. 

“I can’t just quit, you know that,” Liz said, coughing into the rain. “Besides, nothing even…like...happened.” 

“Walk me through it again.”

“I said, this place isn’t exciting, and he asked if…if I wanted him to make it exciting.” 

“Like what, like he’d eat your pussy on the table like dinner?”

“ABBY!”

“What? That’s how it sounded.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was like…like he was gonna blow it up or something.” 

“He’s been a regular for, what, ten years? He’s not gonna do anything, it’s not like he can grab a burger at just anyplace, you know?” 

Liz let the cigarette fall from her hand, and she put it out on the ground with her very worn, white sneakers. 

“How are you getting home?”

“I was gonna walk.” 

“HA! No way, I’ll come and get you.” 

“Abby,” 

“What? It’s…ah shit, it’s like, midnight. You’re done at what, four? Okay, if I go to sleep now, then pick you up - ooh, do you have class tomorrow? We could get breakfast.”

Liz smiled into the phone, and against her will, a single tear formed in her eye, and her throat tensed. “Yeah?” she got out, unable to say anything else. 

“Yeah.” Her sister’s voice was soft. “Besides. I know you’re smoking, and you told me you’d quit” 

“The cook offered me one.” Liz sighed, “It’s better than the alternative.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Abby said on the other line. “I’ll be there in four. My apartment is a mess, but I’ll clear the couch for you. I don’t think Shelby will mind.”

“Am I being crazy?” Liz asked into the phone, but she looked at the tall streetlights. “Am I overly paranoid about this? He, I mean, it might’ve been a joke. A weird joke, but,”

“I’m picking you up either way. We can walk through it again, and again, and again. And I’ll decide if you’re crazy.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Liz smiled in the dark alleyway, and she exhaled again before double-checking that the cigarette was sufficiently ground into the pavement. “Fuck me, man.” 

“Let me get some sleep. But I’ll be there when you’re done. You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I gotta go, my break’s almost done.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The phone call ended with a soft beep, and Liz checked the time on her phone. She sat outside for a minute, watching the rainfall on the darkening pavement. In the far distance, she saw Gotham’s lights reflect onto the darkened sky above the city. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a bat reflected onto the clouds. With a shaky exhale, Liz stood and returned inside. 

______

Her shift ended uneventfully, only three more people the entire night, and at four AM, when Donna entered, for a brief moment Liz forgot entirely what had happened to her. Her stuff, an old leather purse with her book inside it, was already in her arms, and she was about ready to run out the door by the time the woman had gotten there. 

For Liz, Donna equivalent to the sunrise, signifying the end of each night with absolute reliability. Liz had noted once that Donna actually was slightly more reliable – the sunrise changed each day, Donna never did.

“Babygirl,” Donna said with a smile. “You doin’ ok?”

“I’m great, but I have to go, my sister’s picking me up. Have a good day.” 

Liz avoided eye contact with her the entire time they spoke, and Donna noted it as she left. With a sigh, the older woman pulled her sturdy apron out from under the table and set about cleaning the already impeccably clean counters.


End file.
